


Tsunami

by PiecesOfScully



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Smut, F/M, Heavy Angst, Mulder and Scully - Freeform, TXF AU, msr fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 08:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14328663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PiecesOfScully/pseuds/PiecesOfScully
Summary: This was originally just a single drabble that was written for a "Change something that is canon" challenge on Tumblr. I couldn't leave it where it was, so I finished the story and renamed it.





	Tsunami

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally just a single drabble that was written for a "Change something that is canon" challenge on Tumblr. I couldn't leave it where it was, so I finished the story and renamed it.

The green leather pinched beneath her as she lowered herself on to the couch carefully. The living room was unusually bright for a room that had seen and housed so much darkness in the past. Gone were the shadows that lay dormant in the corners, waiting like a cancer to spread, bleeding its deathly toxicity into the innocent and unsuspecting. She looked to her right, to see that even the fish tank seemed to shine a bit brighter.

Her eyes dipped to her lap as he crossed from the doorway to the far end of the couch, perching himself against the armrest. She couldn’t bear to look at him, to see the look of confusion she was sure he still wore. It was late into the night, and the thought that he might not be alone didn’t cross her mind until she’d already tapped three times on his door. Hearing one set of shuffled footsteps sent relief flooding through her, only to be replaced with instant regret upon his clear disappointment in seeing that it was her across the threshold. 

He’d stared at her for a moment, before stepping back and wordlessly gesturing for her to come in. 

She shifted her weight against the couch cushions, then brushed a piece of invisible lint from the knee of her jeans. Her face flushed pink as she felt his eyes on her, burning into her. The silence was deafening as the tension grew thicker. 

“I, um…” she started. She’d practiced what she was going to say the entire drive over, but as soon as it was time to talk the words had slipped away from her. 

He sat silently. Waiting. Staring.

She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ears, and started again.

“Fox.”

—

2 months earlier

Her hand shook viciously as she attempted to insert the key into the door to the apartment, when it dropped to the floor with a soft thud.

“Shit,” she whispered harshly, as she squatted down on wobbly legs to grab it. The door opened suddenly.

“Diana?”

She looked up and felt hot tears flooding her lower lash line almost immediately. A sleepy, shirtless Mulder stood above her, the bandage around his head rising slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He was alive. She’d received the key card and had gotten to him in time. 

“Oh, thank God,” she said as she stood and threw her arms around his neck. He stiffened as her body pressed tightly against his, then relaxed a bit before letting his hands rest lightly against her lower back. The warmth emanating off of his body surrounded her, melting the emotions she’d struggled so viciously to keep at bay. Tears started flowing down her face in a steady stream.

“Hey,” he whispered, rubbing her back. “Hey, come inside. Come on.”

She sighed as he separated himself from her embrace, taking her hand in his, then pulled her into his apartment. Her eyes strained in the stark darkness as she tried to visualize the main furniture in the living room, as he closed the door softly behind them. She crossed the floor quickly to the window, and she stood to the side to peer out of it. She had to make sure she wasn’t followed. They would be following her.

“Diana.”

“Did you lock it?” she asked, tilting her head back towards the door but refusing to take her eyes from the street that lay empty below. It was after two in the morning. Alexandria turned into a ghost town after midnight, so she’d be sure to notice if anyone had parked across the street. As of now, it lay vacant.

“Of course,” he responded. “What’s going on?”

She heard the sound of leather bunching as he sat on the couch, but continued to grip the window sill with her fingertips. 

“They know what I did, Fox.”

“What did you do?”

“Don’t play coy with me, there’s no time for that. My key card- I sent it to Scully.”

He sat quietly, waiting for her to continue. 

“I couldn’t do it,” she whispered finally. “I refused to follow through with the order to leave you there and let you die. Oh god, Fox. I should have, I really should have. I know that. I’ve gotten myself in so deep, and that was my ticket out. Letting you die there was to be the key to my freedom.” She paused. “Well, I thought it was anyways. Spender didn’t trust me anymore than I trusted him, but he assumed I was loyal. I assumed I was loyal too, until I saw you laying there. I saw your face, and I couldn’t…”

She presses her forehead against the glass.

“They’re going to assassinate me for what I’ve done. Or, rather, for what I didn’t do. You were supposed to die there, Fox, but I lost what courage I needed to let that happen. After everything I’ve been privy to, after every project I’ve assisted to bring you down, I couldn’t end you. Not after everything we have been through. Everything I’ve done to you.” 

She glanced back to see him lean forward, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. The Aztec blanket lay across his back, offering him a form of comfort she knew she couldn’t provide. 

“I went to Scully’s apartment as soon as I knew for sure that I wasn’t being tailed, and slid my key card under her door.“ She smiled at him. “I’m happy to see she arrived in time.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need your help. I need to run, to escape.”

“They’ll hunt you down, Diana. They’ll find you.”

Her eyes flick to the empty street below. “I don’t have a choice anymore, Fox. I was already given a choice, and I made it. Now I have to suffer the consequences. I have to disappear and leave everything behind.”

“Leave what behind? Your spot with the dark side? Your acquaintances? Your swanky apartment with expensive furnishings courtesy of said acquaintances? Sounds to me like you’re getting out easy. Clean slates don’t come cheap these days.”

“You,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry?”

“You, Fox. I have to leave you behind.”

He chuckled. “Diana, you left me behind a long time ago.”

“Fox Mulder,” she sighed. “The tortured soul, fated to live in the past.”

“You brought it up.”

“I most certainly did not. I’m in the present. You, on the other hand, are doomed to relive your past until you’re able to let it go.”

“Doesn’t sound very fair when you word it like that.”

“Try being the one at your side while chasing the ghosts of your childhood through the sticks of Missouri,” she said smiling. “Then we’ll talk about what’s fair.”

He returned her smile and nodded. Seeing him there relaxed in a simple pair of flannel pajama pants, shirtless, with mussed up hair sent a feeling of longing through her. If she glanced at him and away quickly enough, she could still see the eager, determined man she’d fallen in love with years ago. A man who’d evolved into someone more jaded and tired, yet still passionate. Someone she hardly recognized through every fault of her own. She’d hurt him time and time again, but his loyalty and trust never seemed to waver. Her act of defiance and betrayal against the consortium was more for her own conscious, rather than to seek his forgiveness. He’d always forgiven her, given enough time. It was she who needed to forgive herself. 

A comfortable silence filtered throughout the space between them as he sat back into the couch and her gaze returned to the moon lit streets of Alexandria. 

“Will you help me?” She asked.

Within an hour phone calls had been placed and preparations were finagled for her early morning departure, and he’d led her by hand into his bedroom. They’d made love one final time, his body moving delicately over hers.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of fake names, small towns with only one stop light, and multiple rental cars. The matchbooks collected from mom and pop motels along the east coast overflowed the cup holder between the driver and passenger seat, spilling to the floor in the force of a quick turn. She hadn’t stayed in one motel too long, per Mulder’s friend’s insistence. Two nights at most, then it was back on the road to check in somewhere new. 

Occasionally, when her nights were filled with loathing and self hatred, she’d find herself driving back to Alexandria in hopes of seeing him again. She knew it was foolish, that she was threatening what little amount of freedom she’d managed to maintain with his help, but she couldn’t help herself. He was all she’d had left of who she had been before. She just wanted to see him.

It was 6 weeks after that night in his apartment that she found herself parked in front of his apartment building. The night was bright as the moon sat high in the cloudless sky. Through the windows she could see his apartment was dark, and though he might not even be in town, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. 

A yellow cab pulled up and slowly came to a stop a few car lengths ahead, and her breath caught in her chest as she watched his tall, lanky form emerge from the backseat. His tie dangled loosely as he leaned forward into the door to say something to the driver, then stepped back. Waiting. 

Then she emerged from the backseat moments later. Her red hair glistened brightly under the moonlight as he took her hand to help her out, her long jacket billowing around her knees as she got to her feet and he shut the door behind her. Diana’s stomach dropped as she watched his arm slip around her waist under her coat, pressed himself into her side as he bent close to say something in her ear, something Scully had seemingly found hilarious as her head tipped back when she laughed in response. 

She hadn’t known Dana Scully to ever laugh. She wasn’t sure until now that the woman had even known how.

Diana tried to turn her eyes away from the sight, from the intimate moment the two were sharing, but she couldn’t. She watched as they walked close together to the front door and as Scully stopped him before entering to pull his face down to hers, kissing him long and deep. Finally, they entered the building and within a few minutes the darkness that sat behind his windows was no more. 

She drove off that night with the intention to never return.

—

Present day  
Mulder’s apartment

“Diana, why are you here?”

She finally willed herself to look at him. “I need your help again,” she blurted.

“I helped you weeks ago,” he started.

“I know, and you’ll never know how much I appreciate that. I understand that by my coming here I am putting your life in jeopardy. But this time…” her voice faded as she searched for the right words to say.

“If there’s one lesson I’ve learned throughout the years, Fox, it’s to never begin something out of fear. Embarking on a new journey as a result of fear will often lead to the most dire of consequences, ones that often cut so deep that you’ll be forced to wear the scar for the public to see.”

He sighed loudly. “You’re talking in riddles, and I’m pressed for time.”

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“You’re here to apologize?” He shifted his weight and placed himself on the opposite cushion of the couch. “Diana, there isn’t anything left to apologize for. What’s done has been done, and it’s old news.” He paused. “You saved my life, and I’m thankful for that. But to put us both at risk to apologize-“

“You’re going to be a father. I’m pregnant, Fox.”

—

For Scully, a late night phone call from Mulder wasn’t surprising. Over the years, when sleeping in her own bed had become a rare and precious luxury, she’d grown to expect to be awoken by the shrill of her cell phone after midnight at least once over the span of a few days. His request this time, however, sent her stomach into a tailspin. “Could you come over?”

The subtle inflection in his voice as he spoke, the measured pacing of his words, the lack of slurring; he hadn’t been drinking, she was sure of that, but the observation did little to offer any sort of relief to the nervous flutter in her belly. 

“Mulder,” she responds hesitantly, “it’s nearly midnight.” 

“Yeah, I know, sorry about that,” he utters.

“Are you okay?” she asks as she sits up in bed and swings her legs over the side. 

“Define ‘okay’.”

Scully turns on the lamp next to her bedside table, the nervous flutter in her belly now a dull ache. “Mulder, what’s going on?”

“Just come over. Door’s unlocked.”

Scully sighs as she lifts herself from bed and crosses to her closet. “I’ll be there soon.”

—

She’s unsure of what she’s walking into as she crosses the threshold, steps past a wordless Mulder, and stands in the living room. Her arms fold across her chest and she juts her chin out, her defenses heightened by the thick tension that permeates throughout his apartment as she watches him stalk into the room and seat himself on the edge of the couch.

She waits as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers together. His eyes stay fixed on his hands as he purses his lips then relaxes them. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other and cocks her head to the side.

“Mulder, it’s late-”

“Diana’s pregnant,” he says simply. Too simply, she immediately thinks, as if he’s rattling off his usual order of a black coffee to the barista at the cafe around the corner, or stating the weather they can expect for the upcoming week. The words leave his mouth effortlessly, void of any emotion. 

For a moment she’s unable to register the profound complexity that lay tangled within his simple words, instead focusing on the statement itself. Diana’s pregnant. 

Pregnant. 

She stares at him waiting for him to look at her, waiting for him to continue while knowing that she doesn’t need to ask who the father is. She doesn’t need to ask how he could believe that woman. When he finally locks his gaze with hers, she sees that the truth lay in his eyes, the bluish green shining with the truth that remains unspoken. 

It’s his, she admits.

And suddenly it feels as if the floor is quaking beneath her feet, threatening to crack wide open and swallow her whole at any moment. Her knees shake as a numbness ripples through her body, leaving her lightheaded and dazed. A thousand replies swim through her mind, but immediately dissipate upon reaching her lips, leaving her mouth agape in complete silence. 

Out in the furthest reaches of her periphery, she senses the beginnings of a storm manifesting within her, its tumultuous energy churning angrily, absorbed by the vast ocean of her subconscious. Its intensity steadily increases, swelling with each second that passes. She squeezes her eyes shut, tamping down the force rising within her. 

He watches her and she tries not to notice his eyes zeroing in on her reaction, analyzing every moment of raw vulnerability that passes. Her tongue feels like sandpaper as she runs it across her lips, hoping to taste even the remnants of a response.

“It was just one night, Scully,” she faintly hears him say, and she swears she can feel her heart splinter more with each word he utters before finally shattering into miniscule shards at the use of her own name. 

Broken Heart Syndrome does exist, she remembers one of her professors saying. Also known as stress-induced cardiomyopathy or Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy. It’s been known to lead to severe, short-term heart muscle failure, but is treatable. If you’ll look at the board, you’ll see…

Her heart throbs heavily in her chest, each forceful beat penetrating her ribcage as her hand reaches behind her, blindly searching for the armrest of the couch. Something to catch her as she falls aimlessly down this rabbit hole of shock. She stumbles into the couch, the cushions absorbing her weight while shaking free a realization from the jumbled mess of her thoughts.

“But we…” she starts. Her jaw and lips work tirelessly to form the words that burn with the acidity of bile in the back of her throat, each syllable searing the tip of her tongue as she mutters, “The in-vitro.”

“This wouldn’t change anything between us, Scully, or our trying to conceive. Scully, I swear,” he assures as he cautiously sits next to her. Even though his body is positioned inches from her, she can feel his eyes raking over her as she stares ahead, his gaze begging for access to her deepest thoughts. “Scully…”

“Please stop saying my name,” she whispers, terrified that the use of her voice would sever the one remaining thread that’s maintaining her fragile composure. He shifts next to her, his arm lifting as he reaches out to close the distance between them, and she flinches.

“Oh God, please don’t,” she pleads, retracting further away. “Please don’t touch me right now.”

“But Scully-”

“No, just don’t. I need-” She stands suddenly, and her eyes dart around the small confines of the living room. It feels as if the walls are closing in on her, preparing to smother her, and beads of sweat prickle along her hairline. “I need to go.”

“Please don’t,” he begs as he stands, blocking her escape route. “It was one night, it didn’t mean anything, Scully, I swear.” He grasps her hand. She inhales sharply as she glares at their physical connection, then recoils, jerking her hand from his.

“I’m sorry,” he says taking a step back with his hands raised in the air defensively. Her eyes finally meet his and hold the gaze, her stomach turning at the sight of the desperation she feels being reflected back at her. His shoulders fall as he rests his hands on his chest, across his heart. “Please, Scully, you have to believe me.”

She can’t help it; she chuckles. A pathetic laugh born from the acute grief that overwhelms her, the abrupt loss of their miracle only to be replaced with the one growing inside of another woman. Her. She laughs at how foolish she has been, attempting to rewrite the destiny they had accepted years before. 

Of course it would end this way, she thinks, as she laughs until her belly aches and tears stream down her face. 

“I do,” she finally chokes out as her laughter devolves into ragged breaths. Under the tears that continue to fall, Mulder blurs into a hazy silhouette, and she says with a small voice, “I do believe you, Mulder.”

“Then stay. Talk to me.” He takes a hesitant step towards her, and when she doesn’t back away, he closes the distance by pulling her into his arms. 

“I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now,” he says quietly after the silence has lingered too long. Her blood pressure lowers with each small circle that’s drawn in between her shoulder blades. “Anger, anxiety, possibly even betrayal. I know you don’t need me to tell you that you’re justified in feeling all of those things, but you are.” She lets him press a kiss to the top of her head. “Your feelings matter to me. I need you to know that this, um, Diana and I, it happened before me and you. It was a mistake, I was aware of that even as it was happening, and it’s a mistake that I’ve regretted ever since.”

His low voice reverberates through her as she presses her face into his chest, squeezing her eyes shut as she concentrates on his words. His voice the needle and his words the thread, each syllable sewing together the shards of her heart. A small flame is ignited in the lowest part of her belly with each stroke of his hands along the length of her back, his fingers grazing over her tattoo, then ascending just as they reach the top of her ass.

“I’d be lying, Scully, if I said this wasn’t going to change things, change us. It will, there’s no way it couldn’t. But I’m going to try my damnedest to make sure that you know that you’re still my one in five billion,” he says as he turns her face to his and presses kisses to her cheekbones and the tip of her nose. When his lips dip to kiss her mouth, she turns her face offering him her cheek. “If you’re going to believe anything, trust in anything, I need you to trust in that. Her pr- um, condition doesn’t change the way I feel about you.”

She wants to believe him as she feels his hands graze over her hipbones, needs to believe him as his nose nuzzles into the crook of her neck. It’s taken them years to get here, over 2500 days and nights had led to her inviting him into her bed. Though their intimate relationship is still in its infancy, she’s not ready to walk away, unable to let it go. She leans into his tongue as he licks his lips against the sensitive skin above her collarbone.

The blaze inside of her burns brightly, fiery passion licking further south to settle into a pulsating where her legs meet as his fingertips graze the delicate skin under her breast through the cotton of her shirt. She’s aware that he’s doing this purposely, attempting to remedy the situation with sex, but she’s surprised to find that she doesn’t care. She craves the reconnection as much as he does.

“You’re my constant, my touchstone. The tether that keeps me grounded, connected to the certainty of the world.” She allows him to press a light trail of kisses along her forehead and down the side of her face, mapping her features with his lips as he’d done just moments before while his hands continue to roam her body. “You’re the beacon of light in my dark world.”

She knows she should pull away, explain to him that sex can’t be used as a temporary band-aid, but instead she grips the back of his shirt, pulling him closer. His words of affirmation come in gentle puffs against her neck, the heat from his breath radiating into her body as she presses into him.

“It’s taken me all of this time to realize that you’re what I’ve been searching for, Scully. You’re my truth,” he says and she pulls his mouth to hers. As his tongue enters his mouth, his hands work slowly in an effort to remove her clothing. He touches her with purpose as if he’s done this for years, as if she’s his, his fingers reclaiming their territory as they remove her jacket.

Flashes of Mulder and Diana assault her mind, visions of their one night flicking through her thoughts like one of his slide shows; his strong hands that cup Scully’s ass pulling at Diana’s shirt, his fingers that caress the skin of her lower back working quickly to unbutton Diana’s pants, his lips that are pressed along her jawline ravaging Diana’s mouth. 

A sudden fury swells within her as she feels him grasp the hem of her shirt and begin to inch it over her bra, for it’s not her body that needs to be reclaimed. She pushes him away, their lips separating with a loud pop.

His chest heaves as he stumbles back a step, his eyes clouded by a mixture of lust and confusion. “Scully?”

With quick fingers, her slacks and panties drop to the floor and she kicks them aside. She glares at him through hooded eyes and demands in a low voice, “Get on the couch, Mulder.”

“What?”

She reaches between them, gripping the front of his shirt in her fists, and jerks him to the side. He watches silently as she unbuttons his jeans and pushes his pants and boxers to his ankles. “You heard me.”

With minimal effort, she shoves his chest and he drops to the cushions, wide-eyed. 

His eyes don’t leave her as she climbs atop of him, a sly smile twitching at the corners of his mouth as she straddles his thighs. Her hands rake through his hair, yanking his head back as she presses her lips to his. His cock twitches against her center as she thrusts her tongue into his mouth, forcing him to swallow the moan she emits as she grinds against him. She’s going to fuck the smirk off of his face, she thinks as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth. 

His hands find her hips, gripping the flesh with strong fingers, and she swats his hands away. 

“Scully,” he says against her lips, “let me touch you.”

She leans back and rests her ass atop of his thighs, staring at him intently. “You’ll touch me when I say you can touch me. Hands at your side, Mulder.”

When his hands come to rest on the couch cushions, she reaches for him and takes his cock in her hands, already slick with her arousal. Her fingers tighten around the base of him, and she hears his breath catch in his chest. They both watch as her hand begins to stroke the length of him, fascinated at the sight of her small hand working its way from base to tip. 

“Fuck,” she hears him choke and vaguely catches his fists clenching in her peripheral vision, struggling not to touch her. The need between her legs verges into a vicious ache, she’s suddenly desperate at the sight of him, craving the feeling of him deep inside of her. She raises herself onto her knees, thrusting her breasts in his face. His tongue slides languidly across her nipple, so, while stifling a moan, she covers his face with her free hand and pushes his head against the back of the couch. 

“Sorry, fuck, I’m -” His words are cut off and replaced by a deep groan as she guides him through her slick folds, finally easing him inside of her. Her hands grip his shoulders as she lowers herself onto him, memorizing and claiming every inch of him as her nails dig crescent moons into his skin. 

Her head bows towards her chest as she slowly begins to ride him, her breaths slow and deep as she plunges into a steady pace with each rise and fall of her hips. Her body comes more alive with each descent, every fiber of her being screaming as they’re sparked with a passion filled electricity.

“Scully,” Mulder says, his voice strained.

“Beg.”

“But Scully-”

“I said beg for it, Mulder.”

“Fuck,” he nearly whimpers. “Please fuck me.”

She bites at his bottom lip once more, claiming it as her own between her teeth and under the swipe of her tongue. In one swift motion she brings his hands to her hips and he thrusts into her roughly. Her fingers grip the back of his neck as she slams onto him, grinding her hips to take him in deeper. The springs of the couch whine intermittently as they work into a frantic frenzy, him meeting her thrust for thrust before an electric current jolts through her body, her muscles clenching around him in climax. 

She rests her face against his, her lips close to his ear as she whispers, “Come, Mulder.” Her demand jerks him over the edge, sending him spiraling into a quaking orgasm that leaves him breathless. 

His arms wrap around her waist as her heart rate returns to a normal pace, and he guides her head to his chest as lays them back on the couch. The blanket feels like ultra fine sandpaper against her damp skin as he spreads it over their bodies, trapping their body heat. She stares wide eyed into the dark apartment as he gently pulls the hair from her face, his fingertips trailing along her hairline. 

A familiar emotion rises around the edges of her periphery like an impending tsunami, a wave swollen with power barreling towards her, designed to destroy everything in its path by flooding her sense of security with doubt, drowning the certainty he’d so recently promised. 

She bears down and pushes against it, willing it to recede. Her muscles tighten in determination as she concentrates on his heart beating steadily beneath her, and she presses a kiss to his chest, claiming his heart as her own. She knows deep down that this is just the beginning.

—

A few weeks later  
8:07 A.M.

With the clunky ease of an old building whose charm lay within its outdated facade, the elevator doors open to reveal the hallway, deep set and wide just like the smile that’s been plastered to his face since he dropped off Scully at her apartment. 

“You’re coming over tonight, right?” he’d asked as he pulled her small black duffle from the trunk of the rental car.

She nodded and slung the bag over her shoulder. “I’ll be over in a few hours.”

“And-”

“And,” she continued with a grin, “I’m staying the entire weekend.”

The smile had spread across his face then, and became a permanent fixture as he watched her disappear behind the main entrance of her building, during the twenty-seven minute drive to his parking space, and remained in place as he slid the key into the deadbolt of apartment 42.

It was a rare occasion that they were afforded an entire weekend free from the confines of their basement office or the cabin of another airplane. For the first weekend in what felt like months they were swapping their office chairs for his leather couch, stale coffee and prepackaged snacks from the vending machine for cold beer and Scully’s favorite veggie delight pizza. He would happily pick off the black olives if it meant having her legs slung over his lap while the latest comedy drones on in the background. 

He makes a mental note to run to Blockbuster as he closes and locks the door behind him.

“Hello, Fox,” a familiar voice purrs behind him.

He spins to face his living room, his gaze landing immediately on the visitor occupying the far end of his couch. “Diana.”

She chuckles. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, but least of all you.” His response comes as slow as his gaze that trails over her, taking in her appearance. It’s been weeks since he’s heard from her, let alone seen her. He forces himself to take his eyes off of her round belly and look at her face when he adds, “We went through a lot of trouble to help you disappear, Diana, but you keep coming back. Is everything ok? Is the baby ok?”

“Are you going to come in?” She counters.

He hesitates for a moment before crossing to the couch and sitting at the opposite end. “You didn’t answer my question. Is the baby ok?”

“You can sit closer, Fox,” she says with a snicker as she pats the cushion next to her. “What’s the worst that could happen? I’m already pregnant.”

A look of shock brushes across his face, but is quickly masked with indifference. “Diana…”

Her brunette hair tumbles across her shoulders as she tips her head back and smiles widely in response, satisfied in the fact that she still has the power to make him feel something. She hums quietly and places her hand over her swollen belly. “The baby is just fine. Healthy, good heartbeat, measuring about the size of a banana.”

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth as he nods. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

Diana shifts her weight on the cushion, turning towards him. “I have something for you.”

—

Later that evening

“Why do I have to sear the meat?” Mulder asks as the chuck roast sizzles on the stove top, emitting a delicious aroma into his compact kitchen. His stomach grumbles. 

Scully turns off the faucet at the sink, and plummets multiple dirty dishes into the soapy water. “Because it caramelizes the surface.”

“But why do we need a caramelized surface?” he asks as he pokes at the hunk of meat with a spatula. “Isn’t baking it in the slow cooker enough?”

“It’s worth the trouble, trust me,” Scully says as she scrubs a plate, suds dripping down her wrists. 

Mulder glances at Scully, and, after she nods once, he flips the meat to sear the other side. “I’m just saying Scully, my mom never seared her roasts before throwing them in the oven. She did it the Teena Mulder way: drown it in some water, toss in a handful of beef bouillon cubes, then let it cook all day.”

“Sounds…moist.”

“Special Agent Dana Katherine Scully, M.D.,” Mulder draws out with a mock gasp. “Did you just say what I think you said?”

Scully turns to look at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Say what, Mulder?”

“You know exactly what you said,” he says sternly, pointing at her with the spatula. “The Word That Must Not Be Spoken. The term that the entire female gender has rendered forbidden.”

Scully smiles to herself and shakes her head. “It’s ready for the slow cooker. Be careful.”

He moves slowly as he transfers the roast. “Now what?”

“Sprinkle the packets on top, place the pepperoncinis around the edges, and then add the stick of butter.”

Mulder grimaces. “The entire stick? Doesn’t sound very health conscious.”

“Again, it’s worth it,” she replies, rinsing the suds from the freshly scrubbed bowl in her hands. “Trust me.”

She watches out of the corner of her eye as he works painstakingly slow, placing each pepperoncini strategically around the roast. “Mulder, you don’t need to be so precise.”

“Says the forensic pathologist,” he chuffs. “When do we add the veggies?”

“In a few hours.”

“Uh, do we actually have veggies to add? Last I checked my refrigerator was looking a little neglected.”

“We do, I put them in the crisper while you were in the shower. Potatoes, onions, and baby carrots.” She watches Mulder’s body go rigid as he freezes for a moment, staring intently at the crock-pot while gripping the spatula in his fist. “Mulder?”

His chest rises and falls slowly, his face remains void of any emotion, but he doesn’t answer.

“Mulder,” she says a little louder.

He turns quickly to look at her. “Scully?”

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” he answers quickly. 

Scully’s eyebrows furrow as she takes a step towards him. “Are you sure? You looked startled.”

“Nah, Scully, I’m fine,” he says as he turns away from her, and busies himself with cleaning up the mess near the stove.

He’s fine, she thinks as she falls back a step, her eyes boring into him. He was never just ‘fine.’ He was annoyed that the deep government continued to pull the wool over the public’s eye, or thrilled that the Knicks won another with mere seconds left on the clock. He was perturbed that they had an early Monday morning meeting with Skinner, or content as they relaxed on the couch with a few beers. 

But fine? Fox Mulder had never in all of the years she’s known him ever been simply fine.

The overwhelming feeling that he’s hiding something from her hangs heavily between them as she turns back to the sink. But he brushed her off refusing to elaborate, and she refuses to push it. 

“You’re sure you don’t want to talk?” she asks, immediately chastising herself internally for her sudden lack of willpower, but the words continue to tumble from her mouth. “I mean, I know we have had these unwritten boundaries in the past, but I assumed that they were-” She stops talking when he wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face into her neck. 

“Boundaries?” he murmurs in her ear. His breath is warm against her skin, as warm as the body heat that radiates through their clothing as he presses his groin against her ass. 

She smirks and bows her head. “I’ll take that as a no,” she muses to the sink full of dishes.

“Oh, I do want to talk.” His voice is deep, raspy, before he presses his lips to the back of her neck. “I want to talk about how your hips fit perfectly into my hands,” he says as he grips them tightly, pulling her flush against him to meet his subtle thrust, then adds, “almost as if they were made for each other.”

Her brow rises as she lifts a measuring cup from the sudsy water and tries to focus on each swipe and swirl of the sponge, not the hard length of him that’s rubbing against her ass. 

“I want to talk about your slender waist, how the curve of it perfectly accentuates your breasts,” he says as his hands slide under her shirt and cup them over her bra. Her breath hitches in her chest as he squeezes, his thumb grazing over her peaked nipples, sending a rush of heat through her body directly to her core. Scully drops the cup and sponge into the soapy water, a hum reverberating from the back of her throat as she rocks back on her heels. With an arch of her back, she thrusts her breasts into his hand, her own hands wet and struggling to grasp the edge of the sink.

“I want to talk about the line that extends down the center of your stomach,” he whispers as his fingertips hover over her diaphragm. The skin of her abdomen tingles with anticipation under his almost touch, and she closes her eyes, absorbing the vibrations of his husky voice against the raised hairs along her neck. “About how I love tasting every inch of you as I run my tongue along it.”

She releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as his fingers finally make contact and begin their lazy journey south. She fights to slow her respirations as her breathing falls shallow, almost able to imagine that it’s his tongue slowly mapping his words down the length of her torso towards the desire that now aches between her legs. 

A deep moan slips from her lips as he glides his fingers across the crotch of her jeans, her clit throbbing against his subtle caress. “I want to talk about the way you taste,” he says before licking the delicate skin just beneath her ear, while continuing to stroke her through the denim. “About how I’m addicted to the flavor of you.”

Her breathing comes in short bursts as her hips move in sync with his hand, his fingertips feeding the craving that pulsates between her legs, drawing her closer to orgasm swipe by swipe. She groans when she feels his hand still suddenly and then pull away, the loss of him followed by a smack on her ass. 

“Good talk, Scully.”

“Mulder, don’t you dare walk away!”

She starts to turn around, but he’s there pinning her against the edge of the counter, pressing himself into the back of her again. She gasps.

“Your mouth,” he breathes against the side of her face. “I could give a three hour lecture regarding my near obsession with your pouty lips and the way they swell after I’ve properly kissed you. Your tongue and that thing you do with it when you’re going down on me. The way you call my name as you come.”

She’s barely able to utter his name before he has her jeans unbuttoned and bunched around her knees with her panties, and she’s being bent forward, her chest and face hovering over the soapy water. She reaches her arms out before her, gripping the far edge of the sink just as she feels his fingers stroking her folds.

“Christ, Scully, you’re so wet.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers harshly as he teases her entrance with the tip of his cock, slickening himself with her arousal. “Mulder.”

As the last syllable of his name rolls off of her tongue, he pushes into her. She catches her bottom lip between her teeth as she feels his hold on her hips tighten, his grip iron tight as he slowly pulls out, then enters her again. 

“Jesus, Scully,” she hears him hiss. “Fuck, I don’t know how long I’m going to make it.”

She arches her back to take him all in as he slowly pushes into her again, the counter top digging into her stomach. He buries himself within her, freezing momentarily as his hips meet her buttocks, then retreats, and she bites down on her lip. Just the thought of him getting off is nearly enough to send her over the edge. 

As his hand inches from her lower back to the base of her skull, excitement floods through her. His fingers twist into the back of her hair.

“Scully?” he asks.

“Yes,” she hisses her permission. “God, yes.”

He grips a handful of hair and pulls her head back as he thrusts into her again and again. The sharp pain mixing with the pleasure elicits a guttural moan from her throat and he pulls harder. Her fingernails scrape at the tile that lines the back of the sink, digging into the soft caulk beneath her fingertips. 

“More,” she urges as she tries to push her ass back to him to emphasize her demand.

“Baby,” he warns.

“Harder.”

He releases her hair. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as she feels his fingers find her clit and immediately begin circling as he pushes into her. Her arms buckle as the sensation overwhelms her. Her elbows dip into the water and her knuckles fade to white as his pace accelerates, fucking her with a frenzied force.

Her chest begins to tighten with her impending orgasm as she feels him take the sensitive skin of her neck between his teeth. She inhales deeply through a clenched jaw, silently begging him to hold out just for a few… more… seconds…

And she shatters, her climax exploding from within her, her spasming muscles pull him over the edge with her. 

“Jesus, Scully,” he mutters against the damp skin of her neck, then presses his lips to the indentations of his teeth that she’s sure are there. 

She hums as she slowly stands up straight, then smirks. “You said that already.”

He chuckles and runs his hand through his hair as he watches her fasten her jeans, his gaze focusing on her damp t-shirt. “You’re wet.”

She gives her shirt a brisk shake and then tilts her head. “You said that already, too.”

His hands quickly find the sides of her face, pulling her close to kiss her. “Scully,” he whispers against her mouth, and she hums in response. “I’m exhausted.”

“Let’s lay down,” she says against his chest as she snakes her arms around his waist. “We have a few hours until dinner is done.”

He leads her wordlessly to his bedroom and pulls the curtains closed to guard them from the sunlight that shines through. They take their time undressing, much slower than earlier, their clothing falling to puddles on the floor before climbing into bed. He spoons into the back of her beneath the blanket, and kisses along the length of the back of her shoulder. 

“Scully,” she feels him whisper against her skin. 

“Yes, Mulder,” she whispers back.

“I really am fine,” he says, his voice low. 

A gentle smile spreads across her face as relief rushes through her, and she rolls onto her back to settle into his embrace. Her eyes focus on the beams of sunlight that streak across the ceiling, tearing into the comforting darkness just like her overreaction in the kitchen earlier. Her analytical mind will be the death of her, she’s convinced. Her inability to control it; to think with her heart, rather than establish and identify the complex problem, methodically break it down into single and manageable components, find the solution. 

She pinches the tissue above the bridge of her nose and sighs into the silence. Wash, rinse, repeat. It is, as her college literature professor called it, her tragic flaw. Mulder’s arm that lay across her waist falls limp, his thumb stops brushing the delicate skin above her bellybutton, and his breathing evens out to long exhales rushing against her shoulder.

Gingerly, she removes herself from Mulder’s embrace and inches out of bed, suddenly convinced that a glass of water will help clear her thoughts and ease her mind. She makes a mental note to bring a bathrobe next weekend as she slips one of his t-shirts over her head. Behind her, Mulder immediately rolls into the spot she just vacated, pulling her pillow tight underneath his head. 

The smell of the roast permeates throughout the small apartment as she fills a glass of water, swallowing small sips as she meanders back into the living room. She walks around his desk and pushes a few files aside. Next to the childhood photo of Mulder and Samantha sit a handful of old cases they had worked on years ago, and a collection of newspaper clippings reporting UFO sightings in Montana with a sticky note stating “Seems legit? - Frohike” that earns a smirk from her. 

Her eyes sweep across the piles of folders that are stacked on either end, to the cup of pens, to the blinking light on his monitor signaling sleep mode, when she sees it. The bottom left drawer is ajar with the corner of a manila envelope peeking out. The chair squeaks as she lowers her weight into it, her curiosity piqued. She can’t help but wonder about its contents as she pulls the small envelope into her lap; grainy photos from the assassination of JFK? A letter from a mother claiming her child is a mutant? 

She flips the envelope upside down and slips the contents into her hand. A simple black and white photo. A numbness spreads throughout her legs as it registers with her what she’s holding.

A sonogram. 

Her breath rushes from her lungs with the force of a hurricane as her heart rate slows to a near flatline pace, and her hands begin to shake. 

Fowley, D. Dr. Russell. 20w5d. 

Her vision clouds as tears flood her eyes, blurring the already hazy picture that she holds tightly in her hands. She blinks rapidly and runs the tip of her finger along the curve of the baby’s cranium. She can’t feel the tears that stream down her cheeks as she traces the delicate point of the baby’s nose. She doesn’t notice the droplets that puddle atop the envelope that still sits in her lap as her finger continues across the slope of the baby’s chest. 

Twenty weeks, she thinks. Less than twenty weeks and Mulder will be a father. 

She sways in the chair, the numbness metastasizing like a cancer from her legs throughout her entire body. Her head feels light, fuzzy, as if every cell of her being has been vaporized. Sublimation, she thinks. When a substance transitions from solid to gas, without ever passing through a liquid phase.

The same emotion she felt weeks before develops instantly in the furthest reaches of her periphery, its power growing with each second she sits in that chair, with each moment she stares at the sonogram. The wave of emotion swells angrily, churning and rolling, surging towards her consciousness at a rapid speed. It builds with a striking intensity as the words Mulder will be a father play over and over in her head like a broken record, with a truth she doesn’t dare to even think riding along its crest as it barrels in her direction.

“Scully?” The faint call of his voice jerks her back into the present, crashing back into reality with a gasp. She inhales sharply through her nose as she swipes at her damp cheeks.

“Oh, uh, just a minute Mulder,” she calls weakly. 

Without another glance she stuffs the sonogram into the envelope and slips it back into the drawer. Drunk with emotion, she stumbles back into the bedroom and into his bed. His arm slides around her waist and pulls her close, his face nuzzles into the back of her hair as she stares wide-eyed at the desk with the open drawer through the doorway. 

Mulder may be fine. But she isn’t.

—

4 Months Later

The crisp apple shampoo, the light floral body wash, the lingering jasmine of yesterday’s perfume. When he wakes, he’s acutely aware of her presence and the tranquility that her scent brings. The sheets are cool beneath his hand as it ventures across the mattress, reaching for her. His fingertips graze her spine, and his focus zeroes in.

Scully.

Behind his sleepy eyelids, his fingers map out the sight of her. Her left hip turned forward towards the edge of the bed, her waist rising slightly with each sleep-filled breath, her shoulder curled into the pillow beneath her head, her red hair splayed across the pillowcase.

The shrill ring of his landline echoes through the apartment, and Scully stirs. He reaches around and pulls her close, her back to his chest, and shushes her with whispers of answering machines. Her hair tickles his nose as he snuggles into her, breathing her in. He sleeps.

—-

“You want the shower first?” Scully calls from the bathroom. He hears the shower turn on, the spray pelting the porcelain tub. The pipes thump twice behind the wall then release a groan, followed by the screech of the shower curtain being dragged along the curtain rod. 

“You go ahead,” Mulder yells from the kitchen. “I’ll finish my coffee.”

He hears the bathroom door snick closed as he meanders across the living room to his desk, the blinking light on his answering machine reminding him of the phone’s ringing earlier.

“You have one new message:

“Hello, this call is for a Mr. Fox Mulder. Mr. Mulder, my name is Julie Clement, I’m the Nurse Manager at Inova Alexandria Hospital.”

A numbing sensation rushes through his body at the mention of the hospital, and his fingers tighten around his coffee mug, clenching.

“I’ve been instructed to reach out and inform you that Ms. Keller went into labor early this morning and gave birth at 4:51AM. With you being the father, the visiting hours aren’t restricted, so please feel free to stop by at your earliest convenience.

End of message.”

He doesn’t move; he’s not entirely sure that he would be able to move, even if he wanted to. It’s as if his body has completely frozen in time, and he can’t feel his legs.

With you being the father

The father. The words echo in his mind and he’s unable to tear his eyes from the machine, staring at it as if Nurse Clement’s voice will chime in and walk him through what he’s supposed to do now. He’s a father. As of 4:51AM, when he was curled in bed with Scully, his life changed as he slept peacefully, completely unaware.

Scully.

His eyes flick to the bathroom, and he suddenly wonders how long he’s been standing there and how long the shower has been off. He wishes Nurse Clement would call him back and inform him of how he’s supposed to handle this situation, what he’s supposed to say to explain to Scully that the moment they don’t discuss has happened. It’s here. It’s real and it’s here and he’s a father. 

Fuck. 

“I’ll go get dressed,” he hears her say from behind him, and the calmness in her voice is the stitches to the ignored, gaping wound that has been bleeding all over their relationship for the last seven months. Her touch between his shoulder blades, the gauze dressing. “If we stay on the highway we can make it there in less than half an hour.”

He nods, or at least he thinks he does. This is ok and they’ll be ok and suddenly words like diapers and joint custody flood through his mind, child care and burping cloths and family insurance plans drown his consciousness. He didn’t prepare, he has nothing to offer this child.

“Mulder?”

Her voice, his life preserver, pulls him to surface, and he turns to look at her, standing in his bedroom doorway.

“Mulder, I don’t know that the hospital staff will let you in without a shirt.” She smiles. “Or pants.”

His sudden bark of laughter breaks a dam buried deep within him, and feeling floods back through his body. It’ll be ok. Right?

—

The lobby at Inova Alexendria Hospital is bustling with people; family members killing time while their loved one undergoes surgery, staff members taking an early lunch, security small talking with the ladies at the Welcome Desk. After three wrong turns and pushing the button for the wrong floor on the elevator, Scully takes pity on him and leads the way.

As he follows her down the long hallway, he struggles to focus on a single thought, tries to pick just one out of the chaos that is his mind. On the drive over, Scully had asked how he was doing, how he was processing. His response was a simple, “I don’t know,” because he didn’t and still doesn’t. Each time he thinks he has a handle on an emotion, it’s overlapped by a new one, a stronger feeling. Worry leads to fear which leads to anger which leads to sadness which leads to hope.

He’s a disaster.

Hope is the feeling that catches him off guard. He’s not even sure what he’s hoping for. 

They push through the double doors to the maternity ward, and he’s stricken by the quiet. The hushed silence seems to have sucked all of the words right out of his mouth, rendering him mute once they arrive to the nurses station.

“Francis Keller, please,” Scully says to a nurse. 

The nurses brow rises and shes cocks her head to the side. “And you are?”

“He’s the father,” Scully replies using the tone she takes when called to a board room full of skeptical supervisors to explain a possible government coverup. 

The nurse flips through a few pieces of paper, then asks, “Mr. Mulder? Fox Mulder?”

He nods.

“Congratulations, daddy,” the nurse says with a smile that appears genuine.

“I- uh, thank you,” he responds, not noticing that Scully has taken a step back. 

The nurse hurries around the counter and motions for them to follow. “You two can come with me,” she says and leads them in the opposite direction from which they came. “Ms. Keller is sleeping, and we want her to get her rest, so we’re keeping your son in the nursery.”

“My…son? I have a son?”

“Yes, you do,” she says and opens a door to the right. Inside is a row of plastic cribs, with tiny infants sleeping in three of them. Scully stops in the doorway as Mulder continues to the only baby wrapped in a blue blanket with a tag above his head that reads “Baby Mulder.” A wave of pride swells in his chest, lifting his back straight as he reaches to caress the beanie that his sleeping son wears.

His son.

He’s much smaller than Mulder expected, wrapped tight like a little baby burrito with a button nose that certainly doesn’t mirror his own, and Mulder’s unable to take his eyes off of him. The baby’s face scrunches then relaxes, and Mulder suddenly has visions of standing in a backyard teaching him to throw the perfect curveball, taking him camping during summer vacations and catching frogs by a lake, letting him stay up late on a school night to look at Orion’s Belt through a telescope.

But the pride he feels is stolen when those visions are quickly replaced with flashes of annual postcards from around the world stuck with a magnet to his refrigerator, and the occasional letter with a school picture included tucked in the top drawer of his desk. The natural instinct to coo at his son is exchanged with the desire to ask him what type of father Mulder is supposed to be. What type of relationship will be allowed? He opens his mouth to ask the hours old infant, to beg answers from him, but instead what comes out is, “Can I hold him?”

—-

“Congratulations, daddy!”

Scully’s ears ring at the exclamation, forcing her to take a step back.

“I-uh, thank you,” Mulder utters.

She watches the nurse shuffle around the nurses station, hears her instructing them to follow her, and she’s aware she’s supposed to follow but she can’t. The word *daddy* in association with Mulder fills her feet with the weight of concrete, and she doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend as the words spin so fast in her mind that they lose meaning.

The edges of Mulder’s form begins to blur as he moves away from her, gliding in slow motion, pulled by a bundled promise at the end of the hall. In her periphery she hears the crashing of waves, the sound growing louder as the tether that holds her loosens, and suddenly she’s following. She struggles to push forward like an athlete who trains underwater, running along the bottom of the ocean while holding a rock, except she’s trudging down a hallway and the weight she’s carrying is her own heavy heart.

She’s fatigued by the time she reaches the doorway, and his awestruck face wipes away any energy she has left. What little of her remains leans against the door jam, hovers in the background like a phantom of his past but forever attached, held together by the steel chains of experiences and seven years.

Mulder stares at his son, she sees his hand twitch in anticipation to touch him, to connect with his own creation. She watches as he reaches forward and the wave within her churns, growing furiously as his thumb brushes the beanie that covers the baby’s tiny cranium. Each stroke of his thumb over the fabric stokes the power of the wave, feeding it to its maximum capacity as it barrels towards her.

“Can I hold him?” she sees him mouth, unable to hear over the deafening roar and she doesn’t have time to prepare. The baby is placed into his father’s arms and the tsunami of envy crashes into her, consuming her, knocking the air out of her as everything is ripped away. The jealousy she’s tried so desperately to suppress destroys her under its raging force, and she thinks she can feel tears stinging her lash line as she struggles to catch a single breath.

She’s drowning. Her chest muscles strain and her lungs burn and oh my God she can’t breathe. Pain bites the palms of her hands as her fingernails dig into the soft flesh, clawing to break the surface as her ribcage contracts in a desperate attempt to pull air in through her mouth. Her brain screams for oxygen and blackness rolls like angry storm clouds into her peripheral vision.

Finally, a sharp gasp slices through her throat, but the tsunami still swallows her in its wrath. Her ignored jealousy continues to engulf her while the debris of life before this moment impales her at each turn.

“Miss? Are you alright?” the nurse calls, but Scully can’t hear her over the bellowing in her ears.

Even through her obscured sight she’s able to see Mulder move towards her, his mouth forming her name, holding his son. She thrusts her hands in front of her to keep him away, praying that her eyes tell him not to touch her out of fear of pulling him under, and she stumbles backwards.

“I-I can’t,” she chokes out just before the world around her fully submerges into darkness.

If ever asked, she won’t remember her heels slipping as she rushed down to the hallway or the sound of him calling for her as she fled. She won’t be able to recall crashing into a security guard in the lobby, the hysterical sound of her own sobs ricocheting off her windshield, or how she drove the thirty minute drive home without getting a ticket for reckless driving. The first thing she does remember, however, is waking up on her couch with the pattern of the throw pillow dented into her cheek, and the apartment enveloped in complete darkness.

She groans when she rolls gingerly to her back. Her eyelids have taken on the texture of sandpaper and her head throbs to the beat of Ritchie Valens’ La Bamba, but other than the physical pain she feels nothing. Where she expects the twinges of sadness or the pangs of grief, she finds a delicious numbness instead.

The clock on the stove reads 10:13pm when she ambles into her kitchen for a glass of water, and she barely purses her lips when she realizes she’s slept for twelve hours. The high-pitch ring of her phone startles her, causing her to nearly drop the glass in the sink, but she ignores it, gripping the edge of the counter to steady herself.

She knows who is calling.

The ringing ends and Mulder is sent to voicemail, but the quiet only lasts a few moments before it rings again as she pads into her bedroom, and she closes the door behind her to block out the noise.

—

The next morning she wakes to thirteen missed calls- twelve of them Mulder and one from her mother. She cringes at seeing her mother’s number on the caller ID, knowing Mulder must have called her in a fit of desperation after reaching the voicemail greeting for the seventh or eighth time. He would have said he hadn’t heard from her, but for her mother not to worry. He would have told her, “She must not be feeling well. I’ll run by her apartment to check on her. Of course, Maggie. I’ll call you later and let you know how she’s doing. I’m sure she’s fine.”

She is fine. She’s right as rain, as they say. Perfectly. Fucking. Fine.

A spark of anger flares in the center of her chest, and her thumb punches the clear button, deleting the list of missed calls. When she dials a number, it isn’t her mother to keep her from worrying, and it isn’t Mulder to apologize and attempt to explain. She calls in sick. With a slightly higher pitch than his usual monotone, AD Skinner informs her that he’s fully aware of the current situation, and not to be concerned, that he’s put through the Mulder’s request for their family medical leave, effective beginning today. Hadn’t Mulder told her? She hangs up before he is able to finish congratulating her and Mulder on behalf of the FBI.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, hours of staring into her empty apartment, her life feeling as if it has become a frozen glacier loitering in the center of the ocean of time. Periodically throughout the day, she’s considered turning on the radio or the tv, anything to drown out the screaming silence, but the thought dies as quickly as it came.

Her shades glow with the warmth of the sunset when she hears a tap-tap-tap at her door. The blanket soothes her skin- red from tears she hadn’t realized she cried- when she pulls it to her cover half of her face. It’s him, she knows it is. When the knocking ceases she breathes a sigh of relief, only inhale sharply at the muffled sound of jingling keys and her door unlocking.

“Dana?”

Scully looks to the door, her eyes wide. “Mom?”

Her mother closes the door behind her, locking it before placing her belongings on the dining room table.

“Oh, Mom, you didn’t have to go through the trouble of coming all the way over here.”

“It’s no trouble at all, sweetheart,” Maggie replies, then turns to cross into the kitchen. “You look like you could use a cup of tea. Why don’t I make us some?.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Scully calls, raising her voice over the tap water filling the kettle. She just wants to be alone, safe to wallow in this numbness without shame. “I’m just a little under the weather.”

“Don’t be silly,” Maggie says when she seats herself next to Scully.

Scully shifts, pulling her legs closer to her chest. “I’m feeling better, actually,” she lies, forcing a weak smile. She watches as her mother’s eyebrow rises, then adds, “I’m planning to go back to work in the morning.”

Maggie reaches the short length between them and lightly grasps Scully’s knee. “Dana-”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not sick, and you certainly are not okay.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “I am. I had a fever earlier, and-” She stops talking and tries to pull her leg from her mother’s grasp, then sighs when she realizes there’s nowhere to move to. Her mother has her cornered. “I’m fine, Mom,” she says. “Really.”

“You’re not,” Maggie says. Scully looks away as her mother’s eyes narrow at her, amazed at her mother’s ability to still see right through her. Even as a child she wasn’t able to lie to her, with Maggie saying that her freckles glittered when she even attempted it. All these years later… Is she really that transparent?

“How do you know?” she asks.

Maggie chuckles. “Because I’m your mother-”

Interrupted by the kettle’s whistling, she excuses herself to the kitchen with a pat on Scully’s knee and a hurried *Back in a moment.* Suddenly left alone, Scully chews on Maggie’s words and the implication of the deep, intuitive bond between mother and child. The spiritual experience of a sixth sense that she will never know- mother’s intuition. She wonders if Diana will have that connection with her child, with Mulder’s child, and feels the familiar weight of the jealousy that she’s been wearing like a coat that is two sizes too small.

She isn’t aware that her mother has returned until a mug of tea is placed in her hands. “Thank you.”

“Dana what’s going on?” Maggie asks. “Talk to me.”

Scully shakes her head and stares into her tea. She wouldn’t even know where to begin. 

Maggie clears her throat, then asks slowly, “Is this about Fox fathering a child?”

Scully whips her head to look at her mother, brows furrowed at the sudden betrayal she feels. The mention of him and his baby cracks at the wall of numbness she’s spent the day hiding behind, the mortar chipping and the bricks loosening. “I- um…”

Maggie’s shoulders drop, and a sad smile tweaks at the corners of her mouth. “I thought so.”

Scully opens her mouth to argue, to inform her mother that she’s fine and she isn’t worried and she’s thrilled for Mulder, really, but what comes out instead is a sob. She can’t lie to her mother.

“Oh, honey,” Maggie says as she hurries to place Scully’s mug of tea on the table, then wraps her daughter into her arms. Her shoulder catches the tears that stream from Scully’s eyes, absorbing the cries that are muffled by her neck.

“I lost him,” Scully utters through sobs. “He- he has a family now. He has what I couldn’t give him-”

Maggie hugs her closer, and Scully melts into the embrace, clenching the back of her mother’s sweater, actually feeling herself cry for the first time. The hurt and envy rip free from within, pouring out of her, and she clings to her mother tighter. She feels Maggie smooth the hair on the back of her head and hears her whisper words of apology until the tears slow and the sobs fade into hiccups.

“When your father and I first married, your father was on full time active duty. I was naive,” she says, and Scully can hear the smile in her voice. “I thought I understood what active duty meant, what it would mean for us and my role as his wife. But as time went on, I learned very quickly that I was wrong. I grew lonely and that loneliness grew into resentment. I was angry with your father, angry with the navy, angry with *myself*.”

Scully lifts her head from her mother’s shoulder. “Mom…”

“I know it isn’t the same, Dana. Just listen.”

Scully nods.

“Your father was given leave for a few short weeks before his next deployment, and it wasn’t until the night before he shipped out that I realized I’d spent the entire time distancing myself. I had been pushing him away because of my fear.”

“What were you afraid of?” Scully asks. “Daddy loved you.”

The smile on Maggie’s face is sincere, but her eyes shine with the kind of tears that only a deep loss can bring. “He did,” she replies. “But he also loved the Navy, and that terrified me. But that night… that night my heart was so full of love for this man, and I realized then that this was the life that I chose. This was the *man* that I chose. That very moment God answered my prayers, and I knew that I needed to fight for the life I wanted with him, no matter what the struggle was.”

Maggie grabs Scully’s hand, her thumb brushing the skin just above her wrist. “It appears that your fight is the same. Don’t let fear or jealousy ruin what you have with Fox, sweetheart. Your father and I didn’t raise our girls to give up. We raised fighters.”

“It isn’t that simple, Mom,” Scully says. “How am I supposed to fight for us when I don’t even know if there is an ‘us’ at this point? He has a family now.”

“He has a son,” Maggie corrects.

“With another woman!”

“Watch your tone,” Maggie warns. A moment later her voice softens, and she says, “Not all children are created out of love, Dana.”

Scully drops her eyes to her lap, chewing her bottom lip as she focuses on her hand in her mother’s. “I don’t know where I fit into this equation.”

“Then you need to go find out.”

—-

The elevator bell rings, signaling that she’s at his floor. The doors clang when they open to expose the hallway of the fourth floor. Just fifteen steps from the moment she’s been both dreading and waiting for. Twice she fought the urge to turn around and go to the safety of her own apartment, forcing herself to continue the journey to Mulder’s and a conversation she still wasn’t sure she was ready to have. Her fear of the unknown loomed across the smooth interior of her car, so she focused on the road before her, telling herself that her parents didn’t raise girls who gave up. They raised fighters.

But now the hallway appears to grow longer as she stands there, drowning her courage and determination as she peers the length of it through the opened doors. She wants to lurch herself backwards, to sink deeper into the elevator until it takes her to the ground floor, but she pushes herself forward and crosses the threshold. Her heart beats wildly as she puts one foot in front of the other, and along the way she can hear the muffled laugh track of a tv sitcom, the rushing of water of a shower running, someone telling their mother that they’re gonna have to call her back, and very faintly, the cry of a baby. Like a moth to a flame, the infants wails draw her deeper into the hallway, pulling her to the doorstep of apartment 42.

As she takes a ragged breath, her fist raises of its own volition and taps, betraying the fact that she isn’t ready. Behind the door the infant continues to wail, and her knock goes unanswered. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, then digs her keys from her pocket and unlocks the door.

“Mulder?” she calls weakly as she steps inside. A shuffling sound comes from the kitchen, and she follows it. Her fists clench as she walks further into the apartment, tight in preparation to fight for the life she wants. Under the dim light stands Mulder at the kitchen sink, his son in one arm and preparing a bottle with the other. Sweatpants hang from his hips and he is shirtless, his hair slightly frazzled. Beneath a small white blanket, she can see the sleeves of the light blue onesie that the infant wears.

“Hang on, little guy,” she hears him say, and she expects to feel the sharp pangs of jealousy, but is surprised at the sense of endearment that fills her instead. The scene before her tweaks the corners of her mouth into a smile as he bounces lightly, sending tufts of powdered formula to cascade beyond the edge of the bottle. “Shit.”

“Need some help?” Scully asks.

Mulder jumps at the sound of her voice, and the look of surprise he wears is immediately replaced with a lopsided grin. “Scully, hey.” 

He steps aside as Scully swoops in, gently taking the bottle from his hand. She wants to ask where Diana is, why she isn’t breastfeeding, but she can feel his eyes on her, his piercing gaze wordlessly asking their own questions. Where have you been? What happened?

“I called you,” he says.

She focuses her eyes on the bottle in her hand, turning it slowly under the stream of hot water from the faucet. “I know.”

“A few times, actually,” he adds.

Scully tests the temperature of the formula on her wrist, then hands it to Mulder who sighs when the wails end abruptly, and are replaced by the sound of a feeding baby. Scully watches him lean his hip into the counter, his shoulders relaxing as he pulls his son close to his chest. She grips the edge of the counter as the fight builds within her, the argument that they can make this work curling at the back of her throat, and she feels as if she may vomit if she doesn’t get it out.

“Mulder, I need to apologize-”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he says with a shake of his head. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The simplicity and lack of judgement in his reply catches her off guard. She had hoped he would be understanding, but his complete acceptance is unexpected. “But the way that I left- I mean, I shouldn’t…” Her voice trails off as the remainder of the explanation dies at the tip of her tongue, and she feels her cheeks flush with the heat of sudden guilt. All of this time she feared losing him, when she was the one who ran, she thinks. He never left; she did. “I’m sorry.”

Mulder leans in and kisses her, his lips soothing the pink of her skin. She follows as he leads her into the living room and takes a seat next to him on the couch. A silence that is only theirs falls between them, and she’s unable to take her eyes off of father and son. The bond between the two feels tangible as Mulder nudges the tip of his nose to the crown of his son’s head. Watching the intimate moment, she finds herself convinced that father’s intuition also exists.

“What’s his name?” she asks.

“Walter,” he replies.

Scully tries to hide the mild shock she’s sure she wears on her face, and clears her throat. “After Assistant Director Skinner?”

Mulder laughs and shifts his son to his shoulder. “Benjamin,” he says as his hand thumps gently on the baby’s back. “After a professor of mine from Oxford.”

“Benjamin Mulder,” Scully muses as she reaches over and takes his tiny foot into her hand. Her thumb grazes across the pads of his toes. “Or is it Fowley?”

“Mulder,” he replies. “I assume you noticed she isn’t here.”

“Is she still at the hospital? Is everything alright?”

“She’s gone,” Mulder says simply.

Scully’s brows furrow. “Gone?”

Mulder nods. A tiny burp emerges from Benjamin’s full belly, and with sleep-heavy lids, he snuggles into his father’s shoulder. “They found her,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I don’t know how, but they did.”

“How do you know?” Scully asks. “Are you sure she didn’t just leave?”

Mulder juts his chin towards a manilla envelope that sits in the center of the coffee table. Scully reaches for it, and pulls out the contents: a newspaper. “That arrived via anonymous messenger last night,” he says. “Back of the last page. Under Obituaries.”

Scully’s eyes widen and she stares at Mulder, waiting for him to continue, but he only nods. For the first time since she’s met Diana, Scully feels something other than distrust and hatred. A profound sadness for the woman strains her heart, sadness for the infant that Mulder clutches to his chest. She unfolds the paper and searches the listings on the back until she finds it.

Diana Louise Fowley, age 46, died at Inova Alexandria Hospital in Alexandria, Virginia on Sunday, June 18th, 2000. The cause was chronic pulmonary disease.

Scully covers her mouth with her hand in disbelief.

No services to be held, but memorial contributions are welcome and should be mailed to Inova Alexandria Hospital, 4320 Seminary Rd, Alexandria, VA 22304.

“She was given an alias,” she says through her fingers. “She was safe.”

“Diana was never safe. It didn’t matter what we did to cover her tracks, they were always a step ahead of us, waiting for the right moment.” He pauses to kiss his son. “I guess they found it.”

“This could be a lie,” Scully suggests, but Mulder shakes his head.

“I made a few phone calls during the pre-lunch naptime and verified it.”

Scully scoffs. “She had just given birth, Mulder. She did not die of COPD.”

“The cause of death may be a lie, but the body in the morgue is Diana Fowley. Skinner went personally to confirm at my request.”

“I’m so sorry, Mulder,” she says quietly, and she means it. Of all of the horrors of the world, murdering a woman after giving birth is one of the most vile. This is a time when Diana should be recuperating, bonding with her son- not laying deceased in a morgue. Caught up in a moment of weakness, Scully gives in to an urge she had been fighting and runs her hand down the baby’s back, rubbing gentle circles just above his bottom. An innocent boy robbed of his mother. She can’t help but worry for his safety. “And what about him?”

“You want to hold him?”

Before she can answer, Mulder is shifting and the sleeping infant is placed in her arms. His seven pounds feel weightless as she leans back into the couch, and his tiny frame molds around her ribcage. Mulder leans into her side and rests his head on her shoulder.

“I think he likes you. He doesn’t snuggle into me like that when I hold him,” Mulder says, then turns his face to kiss the side of her neck.

Scully smirks. “Oh, stop,” she says, but hugs the baby tighter.

“He wants to know if you’re spending the night.”

“Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but I was recently informed that I’ve been granted a two week family medical leave.”

Mulder takes a deep breath. “About that-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Scully says, and her chuckle jostles Benjamin, causing him to stir. “Oh, no, no, baby boy. You’re fine, it’s okay.”

At the sound of her voice, Benjamin settles instantly.

“You’re a natural, Scully,” Mulder whispers. He pauses for a moment, then asks, “So, you’ll stay?”

She turns and kisses Mulder’s forehead, then presses a kiss to the baby’s. “Yeah,” she says. “I’m staying.”

The End


End file.
